Polk's Prayer
by Kitt Chaos
Summary: Death was not usually so peaceful in D's presence.  "Stranger, convey my last words to the great Vampire Hunter known as D, and give him the object you will find under my pillow,"  the blind, old, dying man requested.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary – Death was not usually so peaceful in D's presence. "Stranger, convey my last words to the great Vampire Hunter known as D, and give him the object you will find under my pillow," the blind, old, dying man requested.**

**Inner Summary – A 'what if' story – what if D were to pass through a certain town on the fringe of the Frontier one more time during Polk's lifetime? Humbly written with Mr. Kikuchi's writing style (as displayed in the translated novels) in mind. **

**Disclaimer – This fanfic is one writer's inadequate attempt to show her gratitude for the characters, world, and situations of Mr. Hideyuki Kikuchi's Vampire Hunter D. I do not own and do not claim to own anything of Vampire Hunter D – except for a great appreciation for the marvel that it is.**

**Polk's Prayer**

**Now I lay me down to sleep**

The old man's voice was somehow hollow and musty as it drifted around the room like dead, brown leaves on a drear autumn day.

"I knew it would end like this. I knew I'd wind up bein' alone, dyin' alone. Some lives are just like that, you know? Mine was one of 'em fated that way. I'm just an ordinary person, born in an ordinary, mostly forgotten, town out here in the Frontier. We was lucky enough, I guess, to grow large enough that some of them lesser critters'd leave us alone and pick on weaker prey. About the only ones who'd really mess with us were some of the larger dragon types, and of course, vampires. They mess with anybody.

Yeah, vampires. Much as I hate the bastard bloodsuckers, there's a part of me that hates my own townsfolk even more. At least with vampires, you know what you got. Th' townsfolk look all wholesome and all, but in their hearts, there's just as much darkness as in the vampires'. It's just packaged prettier, I guess. Or, if not prettier, at least in a way that don't scare the piss right outta one right away. Be wary of the townsfolk 'round here. Trust me, they are bad news.

Hmm? Vampires? Yeah, I know a bit about 'em, too. I kept it a secret long enough, didn't want the folk 'round here to get so creeped out that I was 'tainted' that they'd kick me out, too, but...

Y'know that story 'bout the kids taken by vampires, must've been nearly, or just over, a hunnerd years ago? I was one of them kids, back then. Funny how some things just stay etched with the sharpest edges in my mind. I've forgotten how to do a lot of things that used to be second nature t'me once, but my memories of those days are sharper and brighter than the most power laser welder I ever did see.

Yeah, why not? 'Bout time I told someone the whole tale of it... If you stay until I – until I die, I might find I have the strength to tell the whole of the tale. A tale I never told anyone. In exchange, if I complete my story, do a dyin' old man one favor. If I make it to the end, I'll let you know what it is. If I don't well, you'll have a half-finished story and the knowledge that you made a lonely old man's passin' just a bit easier by listenin'. Stupid blindness, stealing my sight here on my last day like this. There's just two things I wanted to lay eyes on once more before leavin'. The blessed sun's one of 'em and the other – we'll see if I make it far enough to tell you the other one."


	2. Chapter 2

**The vampires my soul could not keep.**

The ten-year-old boy started as a hand slithered out of the darkness and stroked his bangs back.

"This one. I want this one."

The child pulled his head back and tried to somehow creep into the wall and away from this unwelcome touch. He'd given up trying to wake up from this nightmare. He'd tried everything and all he had to show for it was a bruise forming on his left hand from where he'd pinched himself as hard as he could with his right, and the slowly realized dread that he wasn't asleep, he wasn't dreaming, and the very worst nightmare he'd ever had held no darkness like the reality he was now trapped in.

"Look at me, boy." The earthy purr of a female secure in her own superior desirability, even to one as young as he, was augmented by her very nature into a compulsion that destroyed his will. He couldn't disobey, he couldn't resist and found himself staring at the embodiment of his, and humanity's, worst nightmare.

She wasn't awful to look at. She was beautiful, in a way. Even though he was still young, the manhood that until this night had been his destiny recognized her allure. She captured his eyes with a lambent, but glittering gaze, and twined a long strand of her own hair sensuously between her fingers. "Why so frightened? I just want to be your friend."

"You're–you're a–vampire." He didn't trust his voice above a whisper.

"Oh, Garen, did you realize I'm a vampire?" Her mirthful laugh held cruelty, not pleasure. "Oh! My stars!" She clasped both her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of mock surprise. "You're a vampire, too!"

The other vampire, the male who had seized Polk from his bed and brought him to this terrible place, sighed. "Stop teasing him and put him with the others. We need to figure out how we are going to care for all of them until they mature enough to be marketable." He snorted. "Crying babies and sniveling kids. If I'd thought things through I would never have agreed to help you with this scheme. I still think we should drink them, leave, and figure out another way to make money."

The vampire woman rose from her crouch before Polk and whirled on her comrade. "Oh, really? None of your schemes have ever panned out. If we don't do something to improve our position, we're going to be desperate, and desperate vampires find themselves on the wrong end of a hunter's sword. For once, will you just listen and not argue with me?"

Garen rolled his eyes. "Not like I can stop you."

"If," The female vampire started with a clipped, icy tone. "we keep these mewling babies and kids long enough, without giving in and killing them or changing them too soon, we can stop their aging at the right point to make them quite desirable to some of the more surfeited, and affluent, of our brethren. With how much they are willing to pay for a newly-turned concubine, how much do you think they will pay for this one," She swooped and grabbed Polk's chin in her hand. "if we stop his aging somewhere during puberty?"

She knelt next to the quivering boy again and stroked her cold cheek along his bright-red one. "He'd be the perfect companion, consort, or catamite for the right – that is the highest – bidder. Quite likely to be an exquisite thrill, too – trapped forever on the verge of maturity, uselessly grasping at a promised but never-realized, and forever out of his reach, manhood. And we all know how simply awful puberty is for those experiencing it. Hormones racing completely out of control, the urge to do violence running so high..." She stopped to breathe in and waved a gracefully fluttering hand Garen's way for emphasis. "Such a cornucopia of new and delightful experiences would be worth quite a lot to some of our more – venerable, jaded, and more to the point, rich compatriots."

"But the little ones – all they do is cry. It will make me mad long before they age to the point you want to freeze their ages, Lorisse," Garen whined.

"Fine." Lorisse rose to her feet again and reached down for Polk's hand. "Come on, honey, and do me a favor."

"Surely not the kind of favor..." Garen started. Lorisse was at his side in less than an eye blink and cracking the other vampire soundly across the face with the back of her hand. "Don't be crude! He's just a child! Besides, I prefer my partners to be significantly more – mature. He's merchandise that simply needs enough time to ripen before the sale. Nothing more."

Polk shuddered, but quietly. He had an inkling of what these two wanted him for. It sounded – worse than death. No, it sounded even worse that just being turned into a Noble. An eternal hell of a life cut short, and the last gasp of childhood extended beyond any reasonable or bearable endurance. Perhaps if he got away from them, he could figure out a way to escape. But, there were others. Perhaps if he got away, he could bring the sheriff and the other townsfolk back to rescue the others. He was just a kid – a scrawny and scared one at that. He had no illusions that he could do anything to save the others. He barely held the illusion that he could save himself.

"You want to please me, don't you?" The vampire woman's voice purred again in his ear. When he didn't answer, out of his stark fear at realizing she was suddenly so close, she huffed out a sigh that let him know more certainly than words she was at the end of her patience. "Fine. You don't want to upset me, do you?"

Polk still couldn't trust his voice enough to speak so he shook his head rapidly.

"There's a good boy. You do everything you can to get those brats in the next room to quiet down." Lorisse smiled at him. If not for his knowledge that she was a Noble, and that she had plans for him that he didn't quite understand, but he knew were horrible, and that including turning him into a vampire himself, he might have even thought it was a sweet smile. It turned fragile, and brittle, and broke. "If you don't – well, it won't go well for you." She tossed her head at Garen.

Taking the gesture as the unspoken command it was, Garen grabbed Polk around the shoulder with one hand and hauled him from the room. "I still think we should just drink our fill and move on. This scheme has no chance of working."

For as awful as Lorisse was, Polk sensed that Garen was even more prone to simply follow his instincts and deal with the consequences later. Since he kept saying he wanted to kill the children now, Polk wasn't about to do anything to antagonize him, or indeed draw any sort of attention to himself if he could help it.

"Don't think about leaving, boy. These doors alone are too heavy for you to manage, even if you were to somehow convince this whiny group to do anything other than cry. Don't give me any trouble or Lorisse or no, I will kill you. Just kill you – if you're lucky, that is."

The din in the massive chamber revealed on the other side of the huge double doors was incredible. Garen shoved him through the portal, and pulled the doors shut. Nine children, several of whom weren't even old enough to toddle, cried, wailed, and shrieked in terror, loss, hunger, frustration, and physical discomfort. Polk wanted nothing more than to sit down on the stone floor and take up crying, too. But, he was the oldest by far, and it fell to him to somehow, some way, get out of here and let all of their parents know what had happened. There were some things he was capable of, but something like this was something only his ma or pa could solve.

What he could do, for his own sanity at least, was to see about getting the kids to calm down. More or less by accident, he started with the very littlest ones first. Three of them simply had dirty diapers. Polk found what he needed in a pile of stuff in the corner. He grabbed some blankets from the pile after he was done changing the infants, and spread them out on the floor. There was little furniture in the room – only a single, massive chair near the coldest corner of the room. He tried to push it toward the middle, but couldn't budge it. He gave up, and realized there was no way to get the kids up off the cold floor. That was another reason for the crying.

Watching him, some of the older ones started to calm down. They crawled onto the blankets as well. Now that the noise level was lessened, Polk could think better. He recognized only two of the kids for certain, but thought that all of the kids probably came from his town.

His stomach rumbled. Investigating the stuff piled in the corner rewarded him with food. He brought it back to the blankets, and distributed it to everyone old enough to eat on his or her own. Chewing his own meal, Polk wondered how he was going to feed the infants. He knew how to feed his cousin, who was a tiny baby, with a bottle, but there weren't any in the corner. From how they were talking, the vampires were going to keep them for a long time – surely they wouldn't want the babies to starve to death? Maybe he'd ask about it tomorrow. Now that the crying had quieted down, the littlest ones fell asleep and he didn't want to do anything to wake them up again.

He knew he should check around the room, and see if there was any way out other than through the massive stone doors, but he was just so tired. He'd curl up on the blankets for a minute, take a really quick nap, then see about getting himself out of here. He didn't want to leave the other kids behind, but there was no way... he was so tired...

* * *

"I must've fallen asleep. I woke because of the most crushing and oppressive feeling... There was a stranger in the room. Tall, dark, eerie – but somehow I knew I could – trust him. I don't know how I knew it, or why – it's not like he smiled or explained, or anythin', I just knew he was there to take all of us away from that wretched place, and back to our homes. There were so many of us kids, it took more than one trip to spirit all of us away. As th' oldest, I had to stay behind until the very end – be th' last one he'd get out of there. Somehow I just knew what he needed me to do to help him in what little way a ten-year-old kid could..."

* * *

"Well, this is a bother." Lorisse glared at the lone child left in the room. She had sensed something amiss in the delicious psychic miasma emanating from the room. Losing nine of the ten children certainly explained it. "Let's wait for your would-be rescuer to return together, shall we?"

"St-stay away!"

"Surely you don't think I'll let him – or her – get away with it? Even if your parents were able to afford a dhampir for their wretched rescue attempt, a half-breed is no match for one of Noble blood. Even now, Garen is no doubt bringing the other children back. I told him to let the hunter through. That one I want to deal with – myself."

"Let them go –"

"Now, why would I want to do that? Little boy, what have you got to bargain with?" Lorisse's eyes glittered along with her cold smile.

"I–I'll stay. I won't try to get away. The children's crying was annoying everyone, right? I'm the oldest, so I'd be more–more..." Polk stopped. He had only the faintest notion what the vampires wanted from him, but it still filled him with horror.

"Hmm. An interesting proposition. You _are_ the closest to being the perfect merchandise for us. Perhaps we were too hasty grabbing so many children at once. And, perhaps, in the future, we should focus on those closer to our target age. We wouldn't have to deal with infants and crying children." Lorisse considered Polk's offer. "You're a smart boy. Perhaps I can train you to be more – pleasing to your eventual master."

Polk shuddered. Master? If the hunter didn't return, the boy thought perhaps the best thing for him to do would be to find a way to kill himself. Death by his own hand would be far better than what this evil vampire had planned for him.

"Still, as annoying as they are, I want the children back. What's mine is mine. As for the hunter – I want that one dead for daring to take what is mi–"

Even though Polk was looking at her, he missed it. Between one blink and the next, Lorisse's head somehow disconnected from her neck and her chest sprouted the most hideous and vigorous bloody flower. As her lifeless body fell, the hunter leaped thirty feet as easily as if taking a single step, and placed himself between the door and the child.

"Hide!" The hunter snarled the command at the boy, jerking his head toward a chair near the far corner of the room. Disobedience wasn't an option, even though Polk couldn't help but notice the glowing blood-light in the eyes of his rescuer – not to mention the long, wicked fangs jutting from between his lips.

Vampires poured into the room through the door. Polk was terrified of the noise, and violence, but somehow riding above enough those fears some invisible force sinuously wove its way into his soul to coil terror, and horror, and dread all around his heart. So deep and insidious was this dark despair that he couldn't even whimper or give voice to any protest. He found his fingers clawing into the sheer stone of the wall trying to find some way to get away from this horrific, eerie aura – yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the battle raging before his very eyes.

The hunter was everywhere at once – hitting vampire after vampire in the most vulnerable and critical areas leaving the dead in his wake – and yet nowhere at the same time whenever their attacks tried to hit him. The hunter moved with unearthly speed and incredible grace, striking many foes in what seemed to be the same scant second. Unable to look away, Polk finally realized that it was the hunter who was the source of the aura that made his soul want to shrivel and die inside of him. Somehow that realization made it easier to bear.

Silver streaked by him to shatter against the wall above his head. He reached a trembling hand toward the white lightning that clattered to the floor next to his foot. Picking it up, Polk realized it was a piece of wood. Looking back at the massive melee in the chamber, he only then realized that the hunter was throwing similar shafts of wood with enough force to pierce entirely through some of his foes. A few more of the lethal wooden bolts and quick sword work destroyed the last few vampires.

"Come!" the hunter snarled, extending one blood-soaked, imperious arm toward the boy. Though scared out of his wits by the aura still pouring from the hunter, the boy hastened to obey the command. He found himself hoisted into the crook of the hunter's left arm. The stone walls of the castle corridors blurred before his gaze. The hunter was running faster than his eyes could even focus.

"Be quiet," his rescuer whispered before he crouched, while still holding the boy, behind a massive statue in a long marble gallery.

Polk kept very still, and tried not to breathe. He couldn't see or hear anything, and wondered what they were hiding from. After several long minutes, he dared to look up, thinking to maybe mouth his question, but lost his train of thought. Not warm, not cold, not human, blood-red eyes glowed down at him. Polk barely noticed the trickle of blood than ran from a cut on the hunter's cheek to the corner of his mouth – the same mouth that had long, white fangs curving down from behind the upper lip.

The oppressive aura damped down, no doubt to help them hide from their pursuers, Polk could easily sense the Hunger now bucking like a living thing within the hunter. Terrified of it – and the hunter – yet somehow, not terrified at the same time, the child mutely turned his chin away, exposing his tender, young throat to the gaze and fangs of the hunter.

The blood-red lips parted, but not in the beginning of a bite. Polk barely had time to recognize the soundless snarl before he was embraced tightly forcing his head against his rescuer's chest. He could feel powerful shudders shake the hunter's frame. A moment later the shudders and the hold pinning him eased and he could pull away again. He looked up and blinked. Gone were the fangs and the eerie blood-light from the hunter's eyes. Before Polk could part his lips in the beginning of the question pressing against the back of his teeth, the hunter locked his attention with his blue-eyed gaze and shook his head warningly. Right. They were still hiding.


	3. Chapter 3

**If I should dream before I wake,**

"I can't possibly do justice to him – my rescuer." The old man shook his head. "Even if I were still a young man with years to spin the tale, it wouldn't – there just aren't the words to do the job." The old man drew out a long, weary sigh. "Here's the whole of it. He got us out o' there, whistled up his horse, and sped us to the place where he'd hidden the other children along with a hover-lift borrowed from the town. I can't explain it, now, it's not like he was comforting the way my ma was, but all of us kids just trusted him. The babies were smiling and holding their arms up at him, th' toddlers were grabbin' at his knees and the hem o' his coat. Not a one of us didn't just – somehow – for some reason – trust him. And he..."

The listener waited patiently for the old man to wander the corridors of reverie in his mind and take up his story again.

"He picked each child up, stared intently into that child's eyes, and the kid would fall asleep. Once the child was sleeping, he placed him or her carefully on the hover-lift, and reached for the next kid. I was the last one awake, and, he tried, but – nothing happened."

* * *

"I'm sorry." The hunter's voice was low and nearly devoid of inflection. Polk shook his head, not understanding what had happened, or why the hunter would be apologizing. "With the others, I was able to take the memories of what happened away. Apparently, you are old enough that I cannot give the same amnesia to you. For this, I am truly sorry. I intended to erase all of those foul memories so that you would not be troubled by them in the future."

The somehow sad look in the hunter's eyes inspired the child to reach under the wide brim of the traveler's hat and placed one hand on the impossibly smooth, improbably soft, cool cheek and ask a question. "What is your name?"

The pause that followed was long enough that Polk thought the hunter wouldn't answer his question.

"D."

"Mr. D, don't worry. I won't tell anyone what happened."

Another very long pause. "The others will not remember what happened. Your fathers and mothers will be relieved that there is no 'taint' of vampires clinging to their children. You will be the only one who remembers. It is important for you to keep this secret and never share it with anyone, no matter how difficult it becomes to remain silent."

"I can do it," Polk told him. "I promise!"

D nodded carefully, before shifting the boy to his right arm and touching him gently on the cheek with his left hand. Polk immediately fell asleep.

"Can you blunt his memories?" D asked, seemingly of the thin air.

"Somewhat. Not enough to erase them," a gravelly voice answered.

"Better than nothing."

The only reply was a skeptical snort. "There. It's the best I can manage. Poor kid. For his sake, I hope he keeps his dreadful secret."

D didn't answer. He placed the boy alongside the other children on the hover-lift. "Let's go."

* * *

"I woke up in my own bed at my house. All of us kids had slept for nearly a day. When I woke up I found out that my town had shamelessly run th' hunter, D, out of town after he delivered us, safe and sound, into their care, instead of payin' him his fee – the fee they had agreed upon in advance. I felt bad about that and swore I'd keep my promise to him 'til my dyin' day. Hmph, guess I did, at that. I just wanted to make sure one person kept his word to the hunter." The old man was taken by a coughing fit that lasted several minutes. After another moment of breathing carefully to ease the tightness in his chest, he started talking again. "That promise shaped my life. Th' memories never did let me go. I couldn't leave town. I guess I was afraid the vampires would somehow find me if I left. I never did marry. It didn't seem right to try to expect total honesty from someone else when I couldn't be completely honest about myself in turn. Th' only thing that helped when the nightmares got real bad was rememberin' – thinkin' and rememberin' D and how he rescued me. I might have nightmares about when th' vampires had me, but they didn't keep me – D got me away from 'em."

Another coughing fit interrupted the man and changed the direction of his rambling thoughts. "I learned how to make cyborg horses. I still remember what it felt like, riding that horse away from that accursed castle. I always made 'em best that I could. Mostly, just the random hunter needed – or could afford – 'em, but still. I never knew when one of my horses might be needed by someone to help someone else – like D helped us all those years ago. If his horse had faltered while we was bein' chased... D could've probably taken whatever was chasin' us, but, th' other hunters aren't D. Some of 'em help regular folk out, too. It just seemed right to make sure my horses didn't cause any of 'em any problems."

The old man fell silent for many long minutes. When he continued his voice was even lower and weaker than before.

"He did return to our town. It was years and years – decades later. I recognized him instantly – his is a beauty you just can't forget. It etches itself into your heart. He needed a horse. I had just completed one and was workin' on another one. Black, that one was – one of my best." The softly proud smile of a craftsman satisfied with his handiwork passed across Polk's face.

"Th' idiot sheriff thought to run him out of our town, _again_. I couldn't stand by and do nothin'. Bad enough it had happened to him when I was a kid, and not even awake to protest – I wasn't about to let it happen again." An echo of a devilish smile stole across the old man's face. "My heavy laser welder was right by my workbench. I hoisted it up to me shoulder as if it was a gun, and aimed it at th' sheriff. Stupid fool didn't realize what it was – and let the hunter go – with the horse. I did what little I could to do right by th' man – the least I could do, for the one who saved me, all those years ago..."


	4. Chapter 4

**I pray that D my fears to break.**

It's funny. You're supposed to reflect on your life when you're about to lose it, aren't ya? I remember my mom and dad, o' course, but... It's D that stands out most clearly in my memory. Perhaps it's that I never did..."

The old man's ramblings ceased. His breathing was still steady, but light, and getting lighter every minute.

"Well, I hung on to the end of the story. Cursed blindness robbed me of the chance to see the sun one last time, and, well, there's just no chance I could've gotten to see _him_ once more. Twice in one lifetime, to see one such as him, I 'spose that's considered blessing enough. D, of course. I would have liked to see that face that time never touches, and those eyes as deep and unfathomable as the midnight sky itself – one more time."

Polk's hand reached out blindly toward his quiet visitor. A strong hand clasped it carefully.

"Thanks for listening to an old man's rambling memories, and easing the time 'til my passin', stranger. If you've the time and inclination, heck, even if you don't, just say you'll do it and give me one last bit o' peace in this harsh life afore I leave it, and do me one favor."

"I'll do it." The reply was quiet, deep, and carried the conviction of a vow behind it.

"Yeah, that's it. Ease my mind for me." Polk coughed, trying to open his lungs wide enough, for long enough, to state his final request. "Stranger, it's not an easy task... You'll understand when you see him... Under my pillow – what's there, give it to him. And... Find the right words... I tried once, but didn't manage to say it right... I always admired him, and thanked him with all that I ever was, that he saved me and the others back then. It horrified me, even worse than what that vampire bitch wanted ta do with us, how my townsfolk treated him, and..." Polk's voice became weaker and weaker as he spoke. He drew a shallow breath and all but whispered. "Heck. There ain't any words grand enough for what I feel. Just tell him... 'Thank you'." The rest of Polk's breath eased silently from his lungs. His chest didn't rise again.

D placed the now-limp hand carefully at the old man's side, and smoothed the covers gently over his dead body. Though D's face was as placid and impassive as ever, a sort of solemn sorrow, perhaps a shade deeper than his customary air of suffering, clung to him.

In his mind's eye, D saw the courageous child who conquered his fear enough to help him, some hundred years ago. "Forgive me that I wasn't able to spare you the memories."

"You can't beat yourself up for that," Left Hand noted quietly.

"But, I do. If we had been quicker..."

"If!" The parasite snapped out disdainfully. "This isn't like you, D! If the world were different, it would be a different place. You'll never get anywhere chasing yer own tail with 'if'. Look, yeah, a horrible thing happened to him when he was a kid. You weren't able to take that memory away from him, and yeah, he suffered from it for the rest of his life. But, didn't you listen to him? He used a larger-than-life memory of _you_ to tame and chase those nightmares. He just died of old age – not suicide, or vampirism, or reckless stupidity. Put this one in the 'win' column, put a period on it, and move on. 'If' we stand here angsting and arguing about it, we might be too late to save the next kid from the next horrible memory and start the cycle all over again."

D considered for a long moment, then reached toward his sword to retrieve it from its spot leaning against the wall.

"Now who's the slave driver?"

"Hey, aren't you forgettin' something?"

D paused.

"There's somethin' under his pillow you're supposed to deliver, along with his last words, to the 'great' Vampire Hunter D!" Left Hand scoffed.

With a steady inevitability that betrayed neither reluctance nor eagerness, D slid his hand beneath the pillow supporting the old man's head. Even though Polk was beyond the reach of being disturbed by anything affecting his mortal body, D's action was so smooth that not a single hair moved out of place as he retrieved the item hidden under the pillow.

His eyebrows moved the merest millimeter, but even that was unusual enough that Left Hand spoke up.

"What? What is it?"

"Paper," D replied.

"Wow. It's been decades since I last saw paper. Let me see," Left Hand demanded. Since D needed Left Hand's help to handle it, he could hardly deny the parasite a look.

The piece of paper wasn't large, and it had been folded. It was ancient, at least as far as paper goes, and had turned yellow with age. The feel of it in his hand was fragile. He could tell that it was severely weakened along the fold lines. D gently coaxed the folds apart once, then again, as it had been folded into quarters. Opened fully, he was able to read what was written there.

The indrawing and release of D's next breath was much too gentle to be called a sigh for anyone else, but the sound of it, coming from D, dropped like a bomb in the tomb-silent room. Perhaps it was some measure of psychometry bequeathed by his vampire heritage and triggered by the item in his hands, since, in his mind's eye D saw Polk, not as the old man he was now, or even the brave ten-year-old who helped him save the children those years ago, but as a child frightened awake by his dreams. Except – this child knew these were no mere dreams. Touched by vampires, seized by them, old enough to comprehend what they wanted to do to him, and the others, too old for D to give him the amnesia for those events as he'd been able to for the others – nothing as simple as dreams tormented this little boy.

Cautioned by D, by actions, as well as by words, to keep secret what he'd experienced, unable to unburden his spirit by talking with anyone about it, those memories, locked in the deepest vault of his being while he was conscious, broke free and tormented him with the memories of what had happened, his dread of events that had not quite come to pass, and the promise, whispered across his soul with the voice of an irresistible, dark nightmare that one such as he, taken by vampires, could not ever be fully free of the taint of their touch. Someday, someday, vampires might come again, when he least expected it, when he had let his guard down against them, and take him again. Once taken by vampires, one always belonged to them. It was – the way it was. Common knowledge, painfully learned in many harsh lessons by humans every time a vampire found a human pleasing. It was why those taken by vampires were exiled – or worse.

But, he'd been rescued, redeemed, by one of vampire blood. Didn't that counteract – well – everything? Couldn't that event break the dark, obsessive hold the nightmares and vampires thought they had on his soul? Couldn't he shed the darkness of his memories, at least enough to sleep without nightmares, if he just – somehow – remembered that fact?

A precious object, his most precious object, a book of fairy tales handed down generation after generation in his family, surrendered one of its blank preface pages. It seemed only fitting to make his 'pen' out of a shaft of wood – a small piece of one of the very needles of wood D used to drive off the vampires that he kept as a souvenir. He practiced his letters in the dirt in secret so that they would be his very best when he dared to put them on his precious piece of paper in ink. It also helped him to adapt the poem-prayer his mother used to tell him at night into the talisman against the darkness that he needed – oh so much – now.

The images flashed swiftly across D's mind now, Polk, at various ages, progressing through his life from that ten year old child to the man of over a hundred he was when he died as he unfolded and folded this very piece of paper thousands of times to read the words he'd written here. As a child he had hidden his talisman in a split in the bed-frame that his parents didn't know about. He could just touch the edge of his it if he reached his hand out and that sensation, the folded edge of the paper under his fingertips, reminded him of the words written on it so that even in the darkest hours of the night, when he couldn't unfold it and read it, the talisman could still comfort him. Once his parents passed on, he moved the folded paper to under his pillow. It was easier to reach, whenever he needed the comfort of knowing it was there.

"Don't be selfish! Let me see!"

D obliged, holding the paper along the right edge and lifting his left hand up, so that Left Hand could read.

"'Now I lay me down to sleep,'... Aww, I've heard this one before!" Left Hand groused.

"Continue reading," D suggested.

"The vampires my soul could not keep.' Well, that line's different. 'If I should dream before I wake, I pray that D my fears to break.' Aww, you have – had – a fan, D!"

D carefully folding the fragile paper again, and slipped it into a compartment in his utility belt. He reached his right hand out to smooth an errant strand of hair from the old man's face. That his hand lingered a moment to gently cup the aged and sunken cheek was wisely not remarked upon by Left Hand.

"Dying, in bed, of old age... It is a win, of sorts. For humans, anyway," Left Hand commented.

D would never acknowledge aloud that Left Hand was right. He stood, shook out the folds of his cloak, reclaimed his sword, and retrieved his hat, placing it on his head. He walked to the doorway, on his way to notify the sheriff that Polk had died before leaving the town. He turned for one last look at the man sleeping in his eternal slumber that would never be troubled by nightmares. Polk's life might not have been anything special to the people of his town, but to someone like D, who had seen so much, and who knew the burden Polk suffered under, it was remarkable. Not that he would ever share that fact with any one. Still, to have been a hero, even on paper as it were, to the brave child Polk was and the tenacious man he had become, held a sort of honor to it. A smile appeared upon D's face – rare, fleeting, and filled with a fragile, transcendent beauty the likes of which mortals rarely see. If Polk had been able to see that smile, and had known that he had even a tiny part in causing it to appear, he would have been filled with a sense of great accomplishment. It was just such a smile.

Only a shadow of that unimaginably luminous smile remained on his face as D reached for the knob of the door to pull it closed behind him. As the door closed, even more impossibly rare than the incredible smile were the words that floated softly into the room as if a ghost had uttered them.

"Sweet dreams."

-the end-


End file.
